Avada Kedavra and others
by gregorybryce9
Summary: Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments). A collection of stories and assignment postings can be found here, have a read and fall in love.
1. Avada Kedavra

**Written for: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments)**

 **Assignment #2 : **Psychology: Child Psychology

 **Task:** Write about a child demonstrating learned behaviour from an adult or role model.

 **Word Count:** 500 - 3000 words

 **Prompts : **(Character) Draco Malfoy

* * *

He saw him as he entered the store and had immediately turned up his nose at the sight of him. His oversized shirt and ragged trousers were obviously made by muggles (the disgusting little cretins) and that crooked glasses which were being held together by nothing more than a roll of tape (a crudely done job at that) were just blatant signs that whoever this boy was, he would not be worth socializing with. He was bound to be nothing more than a face in the crowd he would soon forget about as he rose to the grand heights reserved for someone of his stature.

But then again, his mother had been one to tell him that a polite conversation could prove to be truly useful in the times to come and he dread the thought of disappointing her. So it was that thought that had led him to conversing with the boy.

"Hello, Hogwarts too?" he spoke amicably.

The boy seemed to be surprised, a slight panicked look on his face. He would have laughed if it wasn't impolite of him.

"Yes," the newcomer replied, toying with the hem of his shirt as the seamstress rushed off to gather a robe.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," he lead on, and was disappointed by the nod he received from the boy. It was a trick question, one that every pureblood would immediately recognize. It was the wand that chose the wizard and no one could choose a wand for you.

The boy must be a mudblood, nothing more or less.

* * *

He snapped a finger and then Crabbe (the ever dutifully shield he was) released the small girl who immediately scurried off down the train. He grinned at her retreating form before he turned away, facing the compartment down. Crabbe and Goyle slunked off to their spots behind him as he drew the door opened and entered.

Quickly, his eyes fell upon the familiar figure of the black eyed boy he had met at Madam Malkin's. _'Surely not, he can't be Harry Potter?'_ he thought. Supressing his surprise, he strode forward.

"Is it true?" he said. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

He saw the boy stiffen and impulsively reached for his fringes, revealing the notorious scar - if only for a few seconds.

"Yes," the boy - no, Potter - replied though his eyes were switching between Crabbe and Goyle. The two were rather intimidating, he supposed. But having grown with them, he had gotten ised to their presence,

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," he waved them off carelessly, noticing where Potter was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

A stifled snigger caught his attention and he quickly sneered at the redhead he had not noticed in the compartment. He was no doubt a Weasley and father (the great man that he was) had made sure to educate about that family. They were perhaps even worse than muggles. He felt repulsed to think that such a pure family-line had been reduced to being blood traitors.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." he spat at the laughing boy and relished as his turned red in embarrassment.

Of course, his father had never said those words to him, but he had overheard one of his rants he had whenever the head Weasley (some Arthur bloke) would pester his father with his ridiculous raids and searched for dark artifacts in their house.

He turned back to the boy he had wanted to meet. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you with that,"

He reached his arm forward, a confident smile on his face. Mother had always said that a handshake was a positive sign between allies and that you could tell a lot about someone though handshakes. He wasn't sure was she had meant by that but he wasn't one to question his parents.

He was surprised though when the Boy-Who-Lived snubbed his offer. His eyes narrowed.

There would be hell to pay.

* * *

He was engulfed in a warm embrace and without hesitation, he snuggled deeper.

"Mother," he greeted.

"Draco, my dear,"

She was taller than him (though he hoped not for long) and was quite the beauty for one her age. Sharp cheek bones and dark eyes stood out upon her pale complexion. He pulled away from her, and was surprised by the small frown she wore.

"Your father wishes to speak with you, Draco. He is in his study." With a soft push at his shoulders, she guided him towards his father's personal study.

He had only ever been in that room once before and that was just before his departure for Hogwarts where his father had spoken to him of what he had expected of him.

As he entered, he swallowed the worry he felt rising. His father was a stern man but he had never rose his voice against his own son. It was upon his entry that he came to realize that the study was designed as a replica of the Slytherin dorms. He felt at ease at that thought, a new sense of familiarity entering his mind.

"Father,"

"Draco," his father gestured from his seat behind the ornate desk. "Have a seat."

He complied, feeling gitters as he tried not to squirm under his father's gaze.

"You've done well, Draco. Severus tells me that you've finished at the top of your house and is undoubtedly the best among your year in Potions. You've done your family well, as expected."

"Thank you father,"

But Lucius was not finished. "But what of Potter?" he inquired. "I assumed you would have befriended the boy,"

He scowled before he responded, remembering the embarassment at the refusal of his offer. "He is not worth our time father. Potter is nothing more than an average wizard, someone undeserving of the status he holds,"

He watched as his father toyed with the spine of a little black book. A shiver went down his spine. "I see. Worry not Draco, the time will come when those pure of blood will once again rise to supremacy as it should be. Perhaps it will be sooner than you think."

* * *

"Beware mudbloods!" he taunted. "You're next!"

A frightened first year scurried out of his way as he swaggered down the hall, looking as imperious as he felt. The Chamber of Secrets was opened and he felt a tingle of excitement whenever he thought about it. He wasn't sure who the heir of Slytherin was but whoever had opened the chamber was hiding their identity and he would not let the opportunity pass to spread fear and boost his own name in the snake's pit.

He had inkling of feeling that this was somehow connected to his father but if it was, he was only spreading his father's work. A win/win situation either he saw it. He grinned maliciously, as he watched a girl donned in the yellow trimmed robes of Hufflepuff ducking out of his sight in fear.

His father had always spoken about using fear as a way to bolster your own reputation and Draco was glad to see it was true (but who was he to doubt his father's words).

* * *

He hissed as the wand that looked so familiar yet so different was pressed onto his skin. He knew what it was (13 and a half inches, yew with a phoenix feather core) and felt trepidation as its tip move lazily up his arm. A quck jolt and he fell to his knees, pain flooding his nerves. He heard the cackling of his insane aunt Bellatrix in the background and tasted the metallic taste of his own blood (he must have bitten his tongue).

"Morsmordre," a sharp voice intoned and he watched in morbid fascination as a skull appeared on his arm, quickly followed by a snake slowly slithering out of its mouth.

The wand was withdrawn from his arm and he slumped forward, suddenly drained. Before he could hit the ground, a pair of arms caught him, drawing him to his feet. He caught the sight of pale blond hair - just like his own - before he fell unconscious.

* * *

Time slowed as he pointed his wand at the aged wizard before him. The low mumbling from the Death Eaters as they shuffled about urged him forward. They were nothing more than insurance, he thought. They're the Dark Lord's stooges here to finish what he knew you could not do. How weak you must be. Father would be ashamed. He felt his resolve waver and the wand slowly dipped.

 _'A Malfoy never backs down from a challenge, we take what we want, no matter the cost!'_ his father's words echoed in his mind, and he sneered hatefully, feeling the boiling contempt and resentment rising to the surface. _'This spell is one that few can master. You must have hatred in your heart and a decisive mindset. You must want to obliterate your target and wipe them from the face of the Earth, Draco.'_

His grip tightened and the tip of his wand glowed a fearsome green. He heard a slight gasp a far off, but he refused to break his concentration.

"Avada Kedavra... "

... and the twinkling eyes of Dumbledore knew no more.


	2. Til' Death Do Part

**Written for:** Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments)

 **Assignment #3:** Written for: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments)

 **Task:** Write about someone using the Crutiatus Curse and why he/she does it. Please try to also focus on their thoughts and emotions while casting the curse.

 **Word Count:** min 500 words

 **Prompts:** (Genre) Tragedy

 **Warning: Character Death.**

* * *

 **Malfoy Manor...**

Glass crunched under his feet as he made his way through the rubble of what once was a beautiful manor. What once stood as grand pillars were nothing more than stone and metal work littered along the tiled floor. Scorched marks and red liquid marked the walls while the loud shrieks of portraits echoed as they dashed for cover away from sight.

Viridescent eyes roamed the surroundings, imprinting it all in his eye's mind as he continued his silent trod. Gripped within his right arm was a most curious wand, 11 inches and rigid as can be. Made of yew and containing the dragon's heartstring, he waved the wand and banished the rubble with a single motion. Pausing as the coldest chill ran down the length of his spine, he spun in direction and caught the briefest of shadows as it ducked back behind a wall and disappeared.

Smirking, he dashed after the shadow in a quick burst of speed, the sounds of scrambling feet following after him only urging him forward.

"Wait! - Damn it. Don't just run off without us, you arse!"

He ignored the indignant shout in favor of the pursuit. He caught sight of the shadow again and could clearly see that whatever he was chasing was not human. It was too small and the silhouette of pointy ears hinted that this was a house elf. He sprinted faster, steadily gaining on his target.

Left, right, left again. The multiple turns brought back flashes of the Tri-Wizard tournament and suddenly he was back in the maze on Hogwarts grounds. He growled and banished the thoughts from his mind, now was not the time.

Finally, he caught the small elf but based on the maddening grin on its face, it was completely intentional. He quickly realized that the creature was dressed in the oddest of clothing, a dirty pillow case which had clearly seen better days. His eyes were the size of tennis balls and the scars across his wrinkled skin shook as it hopped from one foot to the next.

"So you've brought me here, what it is you want, elf?" he asked as he fingered his wand slowly.

"Dobby wants the help the great Harry Potter, sir!" the creature exclaimed. "Dobby has heard of the great things that Harry Potter has done and Dobby wants to help Harry Potter!"

Harry frowned. 'Great things?' he thought. 'This elf must be mad if he considered the things I've done to be great. But I won't look a gift horse in its mouth,'

"So how can you help me, elf?"

For a moment, the Dobby the elf seemed disappointed, but he immediately bounced back to life as he gestured to the door behind him. "Dobby hears when bad master would go down the dungeon. Harry Potter will find his Grangy down in the dungeon!" he explained.

"My... Grangy?"

The sound of huffing and heavy breathing made him glance over his shoulders and he watched as the redhead (Ron Weasley - he reminded himself) and the metamorphmagus auror (and her name is Tonks) came around the corner. The two didn't look pleased but Harry couldn't care less, he had something else on his mind.

"Do any of you two know what a Grangy is?" he quizzed and was surprised by the light of recognition in the redhead's eye.

"Grangy? Do you mean Granger?"

The elf bounced in excitement. "Yes, your Grangy is here!"

The Weasley shoved past him but Harry paid it no mind. He had come to understand that Granger and Weasley were intimate so he could understand the boy's urgency. He made his way through the door and down the stairs that led to the dungeon, keenly aware of the awkward shuffling from the auror behind him.

He knew what she thought of him and why she (and the rest of Dumbledore's little group) were so nervous around him. He wasn't the golden boy they had expected him to be. He hadn't attended Hogwarts like most had assumed but had ended up in Kakaroff's care at Durmstrang. His return to England had been orchestrated by Dumbledore with the Tri-Wizard tournament and with Voldemort's revival and Kakaroff's 'disappearance, he had chosen to remain in his homeland. But despite Dumbledore's best efforts, Harry simply refused to follow the mold the old man had set for him and clashed horribly with the others of 'light' orientation.

He was broken from his thoughts by an agonizing scream and sprung into action, only to find the red haired boy sobbing uncontrollably over what was unmistakably a cold corpse.

He would admit that the scene was rather morbid and would have had a greater effect on him if he had known the young witch. Her hair was frazzled and laid limp on the floor, her eyes vacant as they stared at nothing. Behind him, the auror choked back a strangled cry at the sight.

"Come on 'Mione, wake up," the boy echoed as he rocked her lifeless body back and forth, a maniac gleam in his eyes and shivers down his body.

It was a heartbreaking sight that was shattered in an instant as a bodiless voice intoned the killing curse. From the far corner of the room, a green light erupted and struck the grief stricken Ron in his back.

Harry snapped into action quickly. Without even an incantation, a purple beam burst from his wand's tip and struck the invisible assailant. The man shimmered into existence as his invisibility spell failed. Wasting no time, Harry released a chain of spells that bordered dark and was pleased as the man screamed in pain and writhed on the ground.

"Bloody coward," he spat as he approached his downed target. "To attack someone with their backs turned... " he growled.

The man grinned despite the pain. "Ha... ha... The Dark Lord will... have your head... on a... pike... Potter!"

Anger boiled to the surface as he stared down on the death eater. Even in defeat, the scum was still laughing.

Harry raised his wand and allowed for all the horrible memories to flood through his mind. The Dursleys, the mocking laughter, the pain, Voldemort.

"Crucio!"

The man shrieked in pain. Clutching at his chest and tearing at his flesh. The white of his eyes rolled over and he arched his back in sheer agony.

"Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!" Harry intoned viciously, the sadistic glee filling his being as the man floundered about under his spell.

He was stopped however when he was body slammed to the ground by the metamorphmagus. She reached for his wand but he snatched it before her and rolled her off him. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and in an instant, she found herself at the tip of his wand.

He released a harsh breath as the tension left his body. "Don't... do that ever again," he warned and spun on heels and made his way up the stairs.

Not once did he look back at the two dead teens, their arms interlocked in death.


End file.
